


Wishful Thinking

by Nellblazer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Dean Winchester Angst, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Hunters & Hunting, Sexual Humor, Silly Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23364526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nellblazer/pseuds/Nellblazer
Summary: You wake up on Christmas morning to an excited Dean in your house…only you don’t remember ever living in this house….or being Dean’s girlfriendFor @official-and-unstable-satan‘s challenge (go follow them). Prompt: Clearly I’m okay with murdering Santa*Please don't replicate my work anywhere without my expression permission. I'm also on Tumblr and Wattpad*
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	Wishful Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Mild Peril, Past Trauma
> 
> Other Warnings: Sheer absurdity, time jumps, I wrote this very early in the morning
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)
> 
> \- NB

“Hey princess, it's Christmas!” Dean calls up the stairs.

You don't remember getting dressed and you _certainly_ don't remember putting on some tacky Santa themed babydoll lingerie. As you went past the mirror in the hallway to move downstairs, you'd even apparently gone full seductive with your make up which you _never_ do unless it's for a case.

Why though?

“Are you coming or what?” Dean calls again.

“Yeah yeah, just hold your reindeer, mister,” you get down to the bottom and hear a strangled noise.

You can see Dean by the Christmas tree in a flannel onesie that you're sure he'd never usually wear and he's gawking openly at you.

“Hot damn,” he finally closes his mouth. “Merry Christmas to me. Come 'ere.”

He grabs hold of you, groping a handful of your ass before kissing you. It didn't feel right though. Something was off.

“S'matta, sweetheart?” he frowns, feeling you pull away.

“I don't know. It sounds silly.”

“Spill it, you know I only laugh at your dumb thoughts some of the time.”

You poke him in the arm, scowling, “Fine, it's just....I don't know. This feels new, I don't know how to describe it. Kissing you is...unfamiliar.”

“Unfamiliar?” he rolls it around. “Come to think of it, when did I start wearing onesies? How am I supposed to pee in this thing?”

“Is this...is this our house?”

“Well of course...I mean...isn't it?”

The two of you break away. Now you're really looking at the décor, it's not something you would've agreed to. It looked like an all American suburban house and honestly the last thing you remember is being in the bunker....but this _was_ your house right? It felt like it.

“Wasn't it just Halloween?” Dean's face is screwed up as he's looking at the presents. “I don't get it.”

He's right, it _was_ just Halloween. How could it be Christmas?

The thought drives itself away as suddenly the presents are open all around you, wrapping paper strewn everywhere.

“Oh princess, you know me so well,” Dean's clutching a DVD of hentai porn. “I'm so lucky you don't judge. I love you.”

Love? That felt unfamiliar as well. What the hell was going on?

“I got a present for you right here,” Dean unzips the onesie and he's wearing novelty Rudolph boxers. “I'll guide your sleigh tonight.”

“What does that even mean?” you sigh, exasperated.

“No idea but it sounds kinky so I'll run with it,” he grins.

Now you know something's really wrong when you're suddenly at the dinner table and Dean is fully dressed again. You're serving him food like a housewife and you remember more occasions in your lifetime when you've thrown food _at_ him rather than placed it _in front_ of him.

“Dean,what's going on?”

“Christmas lunch. Did you hit your head on the cabinet again?”

“No I mean, when did we become a couple?”

“Psh, how can you even ask me that?!” he blusters but you know he's just stalling.

“You can't remember either, can you?”

“Wait, weren't we just opening presents?” he stands up. “I don't get it. Something's screwy is going on and-”

And then you were in bed, Dean's arm snaking up your thigh.

“You know they say Christmas is more special when you have kids. How about it, sweetheart? Shall we try for some?”

“What? No!” you push him back. “You told me you never wanted kids.”

“Of course I want kids,” he gets annoyed. “A mini version of me in tiny band t-shirts? That'd be awesome! How could you say that?”

“Our lifestyle is too dangerous Dean...I mean...wait what am I saying? We were _just_ talking about not remembering when we became a couple. Where the hell are we?”

He falters for a second trying to remember, “Weren't we on a hunt for-”

Now you were preening your criminally tiny elf costume as Dean was calling up the stairs for you. You totter downstairs in the stupidly high heels to see him by the Christmas tree dressed like a Chippendale Santa.

“Ho ho ho, baby,” he grins. “God I hope you've been naughty this year.”

“Wouldn't you like to know?” you wink before that scratching feeling starts in your brain again. “Dean, is it Christmas again?”

“Somebody had too much alcoholic eggnog,” he chuckles. “Of course it's Christmas.”

“But we just _had_ Christmas,” you back away. “Where's our hunting gear?”

“We gave it up, retired,” Dean looks confused. “Why would I retire though? I don't remember why.”

“That's because we never did,” you hiss. “Is this something to do with the Trickster?”

“The Trickster? Gabriel's dead, no way.”

“So what is this?”

“I don't know.”

“I'm going outside,” you take off the heels and storm to the front door, wrenching it open.

“DUCK!” Dean yells and you barely have time to drop to the floor before you're almost gored by a set of antlers.

You can't believe your eyes as you look up at the rabid reindeer getting ready for another attack. You scramble to your feet, trying to push the door shut. Dean joins you, adding his weight until you're able to push it back outside and lock the door.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!” you clutch fistfuls of hair and lean against the door. “Did that seriously just happen?”

A loud bang and a jolt as the reindeer tried to ram the door and Dean grabbed your hand running back towards the Christmas tree. You look around for a weapon, grabbing the fire poker and readying yourself.

“How are we supposed to kill a killer Rudolph?” Dean grabs the iron shovel from the fire too. “Why is that a sentence I'm even saying?!”

The door keeps rattling as the creature continues its onslaught. You're trying to go through as much lore in your head as you can but nothing seems to fit. You didn't have a great grasp on how much of this was real right now.

“Princess,” Dean nudges you, pointing to the fire. “No way, oh no way.”

A pair of boots were wiggling down the chimney and dropping into the hearth. Santa stepped out but not like any Santa you'd ever seen before. His suit was stained red with blood and it peppered his beard along with soot. He was wielding a giant candy cane that was pointed at one end.

“Is Santa gonna kill us?!” you exclaim, feeling like you were two breaths away from a panic attack.

“God I hope not. I don't wanna die in this outfit,” Dean grimaces before launching forward and tackling Santa, falling sideways into the bannister where tinsel rains down upon them both.

The reindeer finally makes it through, splintering the wood as it careens in and canters into the living room. You throw yourself sideways into the Christmas tree, slicing with the end of the poker across its flanks. All that seems to do is enrage it and it manages to catch you with its antlers, sending you flying into the chimney breast.

You're winded as you lie there, inhaling ash and soot. Dean is trying to strangle Santa with tinsel and if you had the luxury of time, you would've found it incredibly funny. You didn't though, the reindeer was advancing on you, hooves slamming down with each step.

You bided your time until it was ready to stamp on your head and drove the poker up into its soft underbelly. It makes such a horrible noise that you want to jam your fingers into your ears. It splatters blood all over you before pitching to the side and falling to the ground with a heavy thud that makes the floor bounce.

“A little help!” Dean's weak and wispy voice.

You look up to see him tangled up in the fairy lights, trying to stop Santa from skewering him. You scramble up, racing over and leaping on his back, causing him to stagger. He's turning rapidly this and that trying to dislodge you but you cling on, dropping the poker near Dean.

“Do it!” you shriek as Santa starts biting your arm.

“Are you sure? It's Santa we'd be murdering! _Santa_!” Dean blinks, not fully comprehending the danger.

“ **Well clearly I'm okay with murdering Santa then**!” you hiss, trying to fight the pain. “JUST DO IT!”

He picks up the poker, driving it through Santa's stomach. Immediately Santa stops savaging your arm and you drop awkwardly on the floor as he staggers backwards, finally collapsing on top of the presents.

“Are you okay?” Dean crawls over to you.

“I would've been better if you didn't have an existential crisis about killing him,” you cradle the wound.

“But it's Santa!” he repeats stupidly.

“Why do I even like you?” you narrow your eyes.

“My awesome charm.”

“Well it's not for your mouldy cheeseburgers under the bed for sure.”

And just like that you were sipping eggnog by a roaring fire. There was no trace there had ever been a fight, your clothes were clean and your wound was totally fine.

“Woah, what the heck?” Dean looks around before noticing his arm was slung around you. “I officially have no idea what's going on.”

“It keeps shifting us to Hallmark card situations when we start questioning too much.”

“And the psycho Christmas critters?”

“I don't know. That's a new one on me.”

“If it were just the picture postcard moments I would say this was a Djinn but the Christmas attack?” Dean rubs his face.

“What about the offshoot Djinn?” you ask. “The fear ones?”

“I'm not afraid of Santa, sweetheart,” he laughs.

“No but I am,” you say quietly.

“Wait what?”

“Christmas. It's when my family died,” you stare into the fire. “A guy in a Santa costume broken in and tried to rob us at gunpoint. My mom and dad...they didn't make it.”

“Ah geez, I'm sorry princess. I didn't know,” he squeezes you tightly. “But if it were a fear Djinn, surely you would've faded-”

You awoke with a start, blue eyes and tattoos stark in your vision as you lashed out. It retreated from your angel blade as you advanced upon it, dodging it's punch but were set upon by another one that knocked into you from behind. You sprawled on the dirty floor, mud caking your face as you kicked out at the one attempting to put you back under. You dazed it enough that you could stab it through the heart.

You weren't quick enough getting back to your feet and the second Djinn manages to slam your head into the wall behind you several times. You want to pass out but you cling on, desperate not to be put into a dream state again. Its hand was almost on your forehead again when it stiffens, something silver poking through the throat.

It crumples, revealing Dean, wide eyed and breathing heavily, clutching his own blade.

“God damn, are you alright sweetheart?” he leans down.

“I want to puke,” you roll onto your side. “I might have a concussion.”

“You were right,” he babbles. “You were right, two djinns. They both touched us at the same time. A dose of fear and a dose of fantasy.”

“Was that _your_ fantasy?” you look up. “A perfect Christmas?”

He coughs awkwardly, “Let's get you back to the bunker.”

He grabs your hands, dragging you up to your feet and you stumble into his chest where he holds you firmly, trying to stop you from collapsing. You're not sure you could walk straight yet.

“Dean, please tell me,” you murmur into his shirt. “You know my fear. Was that your fantasy?”

“Yes,” he answers after a long pause. “You have no idea how much normality me and Sammy have missed out on growing up. A family Christmas was just not on the cards.”

“But why were we a couple?”

He's quiet, avoiding your gaze as he picks you up and carries you back to the Impala. He straps you into the passenger seat before moving around to the driver's side and starting the engine which just purrs as he puts both hands on the wheel and stares out of the windshield.

“Because that's my fantasy,” he starts out of nowhere. “You and me, retiring....together. The outfits were totally not my idea though so that must've been you, sweetheart.”

“It's not my heart's desire to see you in a flannel onesie, Dean.”

“Oh so the stripper Santa is still up for debate?” he grins before the smile falters. “God I wish you hadn't seen that. I wasn't ready to say anything, might not have said anything at all. I know I'm not your type, princess.”

“You don't even know what my type is.”

“I've seen enough of your hook ups,” he says with a gritted jaw.

“And that's all they are, hook ups. I'm not exactly great dating material for anyone, am I? This lifestyle is go hard, die young.”

“So you're saying I have a shot?” he fully turns in the seat to look at you.

“Maybe, if you turn up in that stripper outfit again sometime,” you smirk. “That fantasy wasn't wholly yours after all.”

“Does that mean if I kiss you, you won't slap me?”

“Find out.”

He hesitates for a second before leaning over and planting a soft kiss on your lips before drawing back, grinning like an idiot. The atmosphere in the car instantly seems brighter.

“Just so you're aware, that image of you in the Santa lingerie won't be going away anytime soon,” he laughs.

“Didn't think it would be,” you settle back in the seat as he starts to drive back to the main road.

You would never really admit to Dean just how much of the dream world was part of your own desires. He didn't need to know how desperately you also craved getting out of the hunter life.

You knew it would never be an option for either of you but you could sure enjoy the ride along the way at least.


End file.
